Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(14)

"I've seen her.on-screen and in mags and stuff, but this is-you. know-wow. She looks like, I don't know, a fairy queen."

"Thank you." The voice was silver wrapped in fog. "That was the goal," Pepper said as she walked into the room. "It's taken, more or less, from my role of Titania."

She wore a skin-suit now, in dark purple, and had a short towel hooked around her neck. Her face, still striking, was sheened with perspiration, and her hair was bundled up carelessly.

"Lieutenant Dallas?" She offered a hand. "Excuse my appearance. I'm in the middle of yoga. It helps keep me in shape-body, mind, spirit. It also_ makes me sweat like a pig."

"I'm sorry to interrupt."

"I assume' it's important." She sat, dropping down on the white sofa, letting out a long sigh. "Please, have a seat. Oh God, Turney, thanks." She took the large bottle of water the butler brought her on a silver tray.

"Mr. Fortney is on the 'link. He's called three times in the last thirty minutes."

"He should know better than to call during yoga hour. Tell him I'll get back to him."

She took along-drink, angled her head. "Well, what's this about?"

"I'd like you to verify Mr. Fortney's whereabouts this morning between midnight and three."

The easy smile vanished. "Leo? Why?"

"His name has come up in the course of an investigation. If I can verify his whereabouts during that period, we can eliminate it and move on."

"He was here, with me. I got home about eleven forty-five. Maybe a few minutes later. We had a drink. I allow myself one glass of wine before bed after a performance. We talked about various things, then I went upstairs. I suppose I was in bed and asleep by twelve-thirty."

"Alone?"

"Initially. I'm always beat after a show, and Leo's a night owl. He was going to watch some screen, make some calls. Something."

She lifted one elegant shoulder.

"You a light sleeper, Ms. Franklin?"

"Hell, I sleep like the dead." She started to laugh, then caught the implication. "Lieutenant, Leo was here. Honestly, I can't imagine what sort of investigation you might be pursuing where Leo's name came up in any way."

"You're aware it's not the first time his name's come up in a police investigation."

"Those incidents are in the past. He had some bad luck with women, until me. He was here when I got home, and we had coffee together this morning at about eight. What's this about?"

"Last fall Mr. Fortney' purchased, in London, some stationery."

"Oh for God's sake." Pepper tipped the bottle back for another drink. "I'm still angry with him about that. Ridiculous, and careless. Unrecycled. I don't know what he was thinking. Don't tell me he brought it with him into the U.S.?" She rolled her eyes, then stared at the ceiling. "Really, I know it's against the law, technically. I'm very active in environmental groups, which is why I could have skinned him for buying that stationery. In fact, we had a row about it, and I made him promise to get rid of it. I'm sure there's a fine, and I'll see he pays it."

"I'm not a Green Cop. I'm Homicide."

Those brilliant blue eyes went blank. "Homicide?"_

"Early this morning, a licensed companion identified as Jacie Wooton was murdered in Chinatown." "I know." Pepper's hand crawled up to her throat. "I heard the report this morning. You can't possibly believe... Leo? He'd never. do such a thing."

"Stationery, of the type Mr. Fortney purchased in London, was used for a note left with the body." " "He... he's certainly not the only idiot who bought that stationery. Leo was home last night." She bit off the words so that each one was highlighted. "Lieutenant, he's occasionally foolish, tends to be a bit of a show-off, but he's not vicious or violent. And he was home."

She was going home herself, dissatisfied. She'd done all she could for Jacie Wooton in one day, but it wasn't enough.

She needed to clear her mind. Take a couple hours' downtime, then go back, read over the reports, the notes, juggle it around in her home office.

Fortney and Franklin just didn't match for her. The guy was a puts, a braggart, a fake with a handsome face. Her impression of Franklin was that the woman was the real deal. Smart, strong, stable.

Then again, you never could tell why people ended up together.

She'd given up trying to figure out how she and Roarke had become a unit.

He was rich, gorgeous, sneaky, just a little dangerous. He'd been everywhere and had bought most of it. He'd done everything, and a great deal of what he'd done didn't fall on her side of the law.

And she was a cop. Solitary, short-tempered, and unsociable.

He loved her anyway, she mused, as she drove through the iron gates of home.

Because he did, she'd ended up here, living in the huge stone palace draped in trees and flowers, surrounded by the stuff of fantasy. It was ridiculous, really, she thought, that someone who'd lived in reality, often the harshest wells of it, should end up in some sort of dreamscape.

She parked in front of the house. She'd leave her pea green cop issue there, as sort of an homage to Summerset, the gnome in her personal dreamscape.